In My Veins
by kiiarra3
Summary: Louis and Harry wake up from a rendezvous at night involving fun within the sheets under the influence of a bottle of vodka. Inspired by the song In My Veins by Andrew Belle.
1. Nothing Goes as Planned

They were small, subtle things at the beginning. Sharing more than a few laughs, subtle hand touches, the way they would stare at the other's lips, the loving glances. They knew it from the beginning, yet neither would dare to bring it up in fear of ruining whatever it was that they had. It was more than what they claimed it to be, everyone knew that. It wasn't ever as much as they wanted, everyone knew that. It wasn't what they wanted, everyone knew that. What exactly was it that was ruining them? What was it?

They had met in an X Factor toilet, the older with vivid cerulean eyes was the first to make the move to seal the deal. He had asked for his autograph because he knew the young boy would make it big with those bright, shining greens, dimpled grin and mess of curly hair. They'd hit off big, and somehow the both could sense this was something more from the start. It was everything, yet it was nothing. What was it?

—

"Are you going to love me in the morning after this is over and we're both sober?" Both knew the answer, yet Harry had the desperate nerve to ask it. It was rhetorical, yet, Lou found the time in between chaste kisses to pity the boy. "Of course," He hissed, breath hot against Harry's neck and it made a throaty, deepened noise that was indistinguishable in between a moan and growl slip through the slightly younger boy's soft lips. "Make me believe it." Harry returned, dull fingernails gripping into the clothed, older male's back which wasted no time in doing such.

—

Confusion was the first thing that was brought to Lou's attention as he sat up in bed, the aftertaste of vodka and male fluids within his throat burning. He ran a hand over his stubbled chin, closing his glossy eyes as he attempted to recall the previous accounts that had taken place the night before. He could see nothing but a bottle of vodka, and he sighed with utter frustration.

His first thoughts were just another one night stand with some male prostitute he would bring off the street when his hand just wasn't enough, seeming he was quite satisfied and had the aftertaste of fluids within his mouth. He grimaced as he got up and sought to find some clothing to cover his bare skin, sliding slowly along the sheets. It was then that he looked into the mirrored closet doors that he noticed the state he was in; matted sex hair, stubbled chin, love bites littering his neck, chest, shoulders, hips and so much more. There were angered, flaming and bright red lines embedded in his skin from dull fingernails along his chest, hips, back, shoulders and just everywhere as the lovebites. Goddamn, the one he picked up must've been quite a wild one instead of the usual, normal ones he acquired.

But then, within the mirror, dull and bloodshot blue eyes caught something shuffling in the sheets behind him, and the hungover young man turned to see what was moving so roughly. He studied the lumped figure. Not a tad of skin was showing as it was completely cocooned within the comforter, sheets, and pillows and Lou couldn't help but smirk because that was how Harry always wound up in the hotel rooms they had to share while away on tour. But then it struck him as odd as how a street worker would stay the night with one of their clients after a session. How drunk was Lou to pay the man that much to stay? How desperate was he to find comfort in the fact that he couldn't have Harry? He knew neither.

Louis frowned, giving the lump under the covers a swat as he muttered, "Get up. You need to leave." It stayed quiet, not moving one ounce. He was getting quite flustered that the man would sleep over, and quite irritable at the fact that he was having another horrible hangover that would make the 4th this week. Harry was taking such a toll on Louis that he was doing anything to get his mind off the fact that he couldn't figure out what they were. They were nothing, yet they were something more than that and Louis loathed that as much as he craved it.

"I said you need to leave," Louis began a little louder, beginning to swat the lump a little harder the second time, but his hand froze as he heard an ever so familiar groan coming from under the covers. It was an indistinguishable noise, yet the fretting male could tell it was Harry's. Lou froze, his brain beginning to register as his eyes caught onto what he knew the shirt he remembered Harry wearing last night clinging to the bedpost. Why hadn't he noticed that earlier? He was dumbfounded, blinded as a deer absorbed within the headlights of an oncoming semi on a highway that just kept coming, and coming. Lou couldn't stop it.

It hit him harder than any lost memoried night had before, and he couldn't stop his fingers from curling within the crumpled, stained bedsheets. "Harry." Lou choked through his foul breathed mouth, his eyes never leaving the shirt that clung to the post. No response. "Harry," It was desperate, it torn itself from his lips like a bird fleeing with its life from a cat. "Wake up." There was a slight shift in the covers by him, and Lou turned his head even further as his messied fringe began to fall in the view of his dull eyes. A grunt sounded from the bed, and Lou cleared his clogged throat. "Wake up." It was a pleading demand, his voice needy, clingy and as much as he hated to hear it, he couldn't stop it from falling from his mouth like liquid.


	2. Oh

"Oh," It was a simple form of expressing shock and it hardly came close to the amount that the younger of the two was in; yet it was practical and effective at his loss of words. The older boy's breathing began to cease as he gave an utter frank stare, his throat feeling as if it had been covered with a heavy powder and rubbed raw with a cactus. Neither spoke with words, merely eyes. The looks were heavily laced with alcohol and glossed, yet both knew the exchanging glances' meanings within a heartbeat. It was always that way between the two, their own secret communication.

A heavy, thick smog of an awkward silence began to creep lazily through the air like a lazy fog on a cold morning, and instantly Louis regretted waking the younger, hungover boy. What was there to say now that they had realized what they had done? It wasn't that Lou regretted the hookup, far from it in fact; it was the way it had happened. Both boys loved one another with such a passion that the media and world had not yet seen between two famous boys in the heavy spotlight, and everyone had sensed they would hook up before long and were waiting as wolves would at a helpless and wounded animal. In a sense, that was the situation. The wolves sensed something wrong with the animal, it was weak and wounded with a festering complication that couldn't be covered up nor healed, so they gathered. They gathered at the animal like hungry, desperate scavenging vultures, ready to fight to the very brink of death if necessary to get to the meat first. That was always the case in both the real world and the wild; everyone was greedy to feast at the weakness of others. If the couple's secret was to get out, the media was going to flog to them with such a force none of them could even fathom to imagine. It was in the same context, wolves flocking to a wounded animal as the media would to the two boys. The same.

Often enough, Zayn would joke about how he could see the two obviously smitten boys hooking up during a drunken stupor, and it made Louis cringe at the thought that Zayn was right and therefor there would be an ensuing slue of laughter and gloating. And before he was aware that Harry's tired, alcohol-laced greens were still watching him with a glossy-eyed intensity that made Louis rather uncomfortable and unable to breathe, he had already begun to cringe rather obviously at the thought. Instantly, Louis dropped his eyes and turned to focus on a stain on the wrinkled sheets. "I'm going to shower." And with those simple, desperate words, he broke the fog of a silence that had rested among their heads, threatening to choke within their throats if either spoke. The fog's threats were hollow, and it disappeared along with the older of the two.


End file.
